Never Good Enough
by EchoEveMorrow
Summary: Just an angsty little ficlet I wrote up one night. Faith has hidden feelings for Buffy. One night, she gets a little too drunk and... well, I promise to write more if anyone finds it interesting! Second person storytelling. (Sorry my summarizing skills are lacking, but give it a chance!)


**I wrote this up one night. I'm not sure if I'm done with it or if I should make something of it. How about I let you guys decide? Let me know.**

You shakily stand to grab another bottle of wine. You think this makes three. Your vision is blurry, your steps are uneven, and you're not really sure what lead to the current conversation, but you think you'll regret it when you're sober. Her words are running together as she bursts into a small fit of drunken laughter and you struggle not to join her as you reach for the bottle opener.

Once you've firmly latched onto the aforementioned object, you let your legs fall completely out from under you to land firmly on your backside. Instead of a noise of pain, you start laughing as you hand her the bottle and its opener.

For the last hour and a half you've been talking about people you have had, might have, and do have feelings for. You've been trying desperately to keep your head level enough to make sure you don't let your feelings for her slip out. She remembers a lot more than you do when you've been drinking and you know it would change things between you for her to know.

"Come on, Faith. There has to be _someone_ now, right? You've been single for such a long time." She whines, trying to get you to confess whoever it is you've obviously fallen for.

"It's not like that, B. You know me; get some, get gone. That's all I need from anyone." You finish with a wink. You don't need things getting weird between the two of you over something you know will eventually dissipate… even though it hasn't for over a year.

She dons her trademark pout and you quickly look away, struggling to resist her. You sit there for a minute, staring at the floor, before snatching the still not open bottle from her and fumbling with it long enough to pop the cork on your cheap merlot.

You shake your head at how stupidly into her you are and chug a third of the bottle before passing it back to her. It burns all the way down your throat, but you won't let her know that bothers you. She'd never let you hear the end of it.

"Slow down, Faith. What's wrong?" she asks, eyes full of concern, and you can tell she's going to pry. You don't give her the time; instead, you stand to grab your leather jacket from the back of a nearby chair and head to the front door. If she even tries to stop you from having a smoke, you'll have no choice but to abandon the moderately enjoyable night you've shared so far.

You sit on the railing of the deck outside and stare out into a field. The smoke deliciously fills your lungs and your head gets just a little clearer. It's so hard to spend time with her, especially alone, but you wouldn't give it up for anything. She means so much to you, even when just sitting next to her is killing you.

You hear the creak of the door behind you and don't bother turning around. You know it's her and you know what she wants. You let the smoke fill your lungs once again before closing your eyes and exhaling heavily. You drop yourself down from the rail and finally turn to face her, taking another drag as you do so.

Her eyes hold something you don't recognize and it startles you; you've memorized every emotion flitting through those beautiful hazel eyes. She steps closer to you, still not saying a word, before pulling you into a tight hug. You flick your unfinished cigarette aside and hug her back. You're not sure what this is all about, but you're in no position to complain. You tilt your head down, just enough that your nose touches the top of her hair, and you can inhale her sweet scent.

You squeeze your eyes closed as you're suffocated with sudden anguish. The terrible feeling that accompanies this proximity, one no amount of alcohol can extinguish, has suddenly returned. A realization you're reminded of every single day.

You can be her friend; that person she trusts more than anything, that person she cries to because someone broke her heart, that person who will drop everything in their lives to make sure she's okay, that person that loves her without a moment's pause, but you will never _have_ this girl.

You take a deep breath and pull away from her. It's dangerous to allow yourself to touch her, especially after having consumed as much alcohol as the two of you have tonight. Her face is pointed to the ground and you tilt your head, trying desperately to understand what's going on with her in this moment.

Without your consent, your hand moves to cup her chin and bring her face back up to yours. Your lips part and your brow furrows when you see the tears trailing silently down her cheeks. Using your thumbs to brush them off, you plead with your eyes for her to tell you what's wrong; for her to tell you exactly how you can make the pain go away.


End file.
